Dear Dr. Phil.
Have I got a scoop for you.
Happiness does not exist. Feelings of joy subside. Normal is a consistent beating. There's nothing anyone can do.
So I must do it all myself instead of being on your show. Thanks anyway.
I was born yesterday.
Good evening, readers of this. My name is, not my name. I come from a place far away, much like the neighbor, who you do not know.
When I was young, I felt worse. Things are really starting to gather into a pile of life once lived. The memories are the only thing I haven't lost.
Where do I even begin...
When do I begin?
It is too late. I can no longer continue down this road. Something's gotta give but, even a miracle would be a miracle at this point.
Telling the stories only bring back the thoughts. The thoughts started when I was a child and are some of my most prominent ancient memories. Always there to strike me down late at night when I couldn't sleep. Bringing me to the tears and whimpers I had to keep a secret from my brother who was only one wall away.
They weren't my mistakes. Thinking of the hardships of those closest to me. Placing myself in their shoes; paralyzed. I couldn't even walk.
Their lives were replaced with my own as I grew older and began making mistakes for myself. Again, late at night, dwelling on my failures and embarrassments. No more tears. Eventually I replaced everything with fears.
To this day my biggest fear is success. I've been good at everything I've tried. I can do anything I want, except the things I really want to do. There is such a thing as impossible; and that's okay.
Something. Someone. Me. All three at once, out to make life difficult, because I can't stand easy, nor do I deserve it.
There's something wrong or, I don't belong.
I got to learn the hard way. The real hard way. Part of me wants to go back and live it again; fix it. Most of me hasn't recovered though and I'd probably forget my tools.
What should be a haunting thought, is not.
What are the haunting thoughts?
Well, for starters, I have several. Best described as individual units. Small packages. Each is an event from history. My history. The life only I know, and nobody else. Each its own story. Thousand word essays would only skim the surface. I can't explain everything but in one word — pain.
The dwelling stopped. That took years of practice.
Here comes the thought; okay think about something else. Here comes the thought; okay think about something else. Here comes the thought; okay think about something else.
Eventually there was no need to concentrate; no different than breathing. The thoughts, as invisible as air; no longer there. Still, without a name.
Naivety defined was me thinking I won. How would that work? One cannot keep a secret from self.
I already mentioned how I'm good at everything I do. So if I find a way to fight, I'll find a way to defeat me, too.
Have I lost control...
The haunting thought strikes in an instant. While doing everyday things it just pops up and goes bing.
"You've got mail."
A letter from my past hits me in a flash. There's no time to think about something else. It's there. Feels the same as ten hours worth of dwelling over inner turmoil, in an instant.
Then it's gone and I'm supposed to just carry on.
Like being punched in the head and left for dead. It's my life, flashing before my eyes. Or those moments that bring out a subtle chuckle seemingly out of nowhere because that happened a long time ago but it's still funny today.
People would most likely think I'm crazy if I was wired to only have happy thoughts.
So I guess this is normal. Talking about it probably isn't. The frequency and impact probably isn't normal; I'll take one for the team.
This world is testing me. Testing all of us, probably.
My most recent haunting thought hit me earlier, before I started writing this. That was a long time ago. Several hours. I'm sitting here waiting for the next one but the one before all this tried to convince me not to do this.
The confusion was intentional.
I've finally decided what to do with my life. And that's strange because I've lived a lot of life, making decisions every step of the way.
Losing interest in cryptocurrency came quite naturally to me recently. I've been battling with it for awhile, thinking this was just another episode of self-sabotage caused by haunting thoughts. Sat around waiting for the pain; pain that never came.
If that thought makes you uncomfortable, just know I mean no offense. I am who I am and can't be anyone else. I still admire what this project hopes to accomplish, in its entirety. And I certainly have nothing against anyone who eats, breathes, sleeps, and shits tokens.
I worked for everything I have. That's how I wanted it.
There was a time when all I had was a temporary roof over my head. I remember waking up every morning thinking about which way to walk. Head north over the bridge. Loiter around a bus stop. They'd get off and I'd be standing next to a parking meter low on time, pretending like I lost my coin, frantically digging through pockets until some kindness and generosity falls from the sky and hooks me up.
You don't need to ask for help.
Other days I'd walk south, then east. I could turn a one dollar coin into four cigarettes. Have one in my mouth, walk along. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"Hey man can I buy a smoke off you?"
I'd always say, "I only have a few." And they'd always say, "Come on. I'll give you a buck."
I'd turn that dollar into a couple cigs. Then go right back to the act and do it all over again. Everyone was happy. Nobody got ripped off. Everyone flipping crypto does the exact same thing.
Every post I ever published was just me, busking.
Not asking for help. Not charging a fee. For every ten that walked past, one would notice me.
I still don't know what people see in me. Can't explain how things got so good. When a noob comes along, sometimes I try, but to be honest, I don't know what to tell them when they ask how to Hive.
Don't follow the money. Make it come to you. Don't obsess over things you can't control, or they'll come back to haunt you.
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